


Happy Non-Denominational Winter Holiday, Carlton Lassiter

by sebviathan



Category: Psych
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, carlton lassiter deserves all the love in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: Buzz McNab is throwing a holiday party for the SBPD. Shawn manages to convince Lassie to go with him.





	Happy Non-Denominational Winter Holiday, Carlton Lassiter

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine this as easily being part of the [It’s 9:15 Somewhere](http://archiveofourown.org/series/813954) universe, but there are no allusions to the events of those fics, so it doesn’t necessarily have to be. The most specific thing established (or implied) is that they would have started dating around the end of s3, and that this is the Christmas that would have taken place in s4.
> 
> The title is a vague Charlie Brown reference (it was previously _Fairytale of Santa Barbara_ , but I decided to change it). For that reason I suppose it could be a sort of companion piece to [_It's the Great Pineapple, Shawn Spencer!_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12587648) if you assume that the events of that fic didn't immediately lead to them dating.

How Carlton is managing to walk alongside Shawn in a public store as they take turns pushing the same cart, making it fairly clear that they're close if not romantically involved,  _without_  very much if _any_  worry that they'll be spotted by someone they know... is baffling to him. Or to the self-examining part of him.

Sure, they're a good ten miles out of Santa Barbara. But this is by far the closest Costco and surely  _plenty_  of people are willing to travel out of town in order to buy in bulk? Surely the chances of someone else from the station being here at the same time as them aren't  _that_  low.

And yet he feels calm. Happy, even. It's scarily refreshing to do something as domestic as  _shop_  with someone... nevermind the fact that they're not living together. They are, however, sharing a Costco Card, which feels similar enough.

God, it's crazy that Carlton is already so enamoured with the idea of being domestic.

It's crazy that he's comfortable with shopping together  _before_  he's comfortable with going public about their relationship.

It's fucking crazy that he actually  _trusts_  Shawn not to be using him for his Costco Card—

Or maybe it's the exact opposite. Maybe Carlton was crazy before, and somewhere along the line... the paranoia and anxiety and utter mistrust of anyone and everyone started to fade.

It must have, because here he is, six months into dating Shawn and  _bulk-shopping_  with him, as well as smack in the middle of December without having caught his usual holiday grumpiness at all—and, in fact... looking somewhat forward to it. And not even just for the possibility of arresting someone on Christmas and getting to whip out some themed one-liners!

"Holy shit, Lassie, we can get eggnog by the  _barrel_."

...Not necessarily for that, either.

"The half-gallon I already have at home is going to last me the month," he tells him immediately, and then as he actually turns and  _sees_  the monstrously sized containers..., "Now  _that_ should be illegal. No one needs that much."

Shawn promptly lets out a scandalized gasp. " _Lassie!_  And here I thought you of all people would want to  _protect_  the people's constitutional right to get sick on as much 'nog as they please!"

He then shakes his head as though in shame, working an amused chuckle out of his boyfriend.

"...You're also neglecting to factor in one thing," Shawn continues after a moment, leaning over their cart.

"And what's that?"

"A barrel like this would be  _fantastic_  for serving a large amount of people. Particularly, say, at a Non-Denominational Winter Holiday party... thrown by a coworker whose name is coincidentally also a sound that a bee makes."

Carlton raises a vaguely bemused eyebrow. "You want to go to McNab's Christmas party?"

"Ah— _Non-Denominational Winter Holiday_   _party_ , you mean."

He rolls his eyes. "...Yeah, that."

"Well, Gus wants to go, and plenty of the rest of the department's going, including Jules, so why not?"

"But you want me to come, too."

"Of course! You're in desperate need of some good old-fashioned socialization, dude."

"But you realize we wouldn't actually be going  _together_ , right. Unless you're proposing that we use the party as a way to announce—"

" _Oh_ —no, I'm not," Shawn quickly assures him with a casual wave of his hand. "I mean, not  _necessarily_ , but... It can still be a date even if it doesn't look like one to other people! With Gus and Juliet there, it won't look weird at all for the four of us to hang around each other.  _And_  I came up with an utterly ingenious way for us to get away with kissing at the party, and for anyone who might see to think nothing of it."

With that, Shawn reaches behind him and pulls—seemingly out of nowhere—a peppermint-striped headband with a piece of wire and mistletoe attached. Carlton's mouth falls open in a sort of shock as he watches him put it on.

Then he sees how proud Shawn looks of himself and can't help but let out a loud, sharp laugh. It echoes in the high, industrial ceilings of the Costco and inevitably turns some heads, but he can't care about that, either.

"Where did you even get that?"

"Somewhere near the front of the store, but that's neither here nor there." Now Shawn actually looks serious despite the mistletoe dangling from his head, which is even funnier. "Listen—we're at the party, right, and I have  _this_ on, and I'm being my jackass-y self, and I get all up in your personal space as I  _often_  do—"

—and Shawn steps around the cart so as to demonstrate, stopping a hand's width away from him and grabbing Carlton by the shoulders—

"—and now the mistletoe is over both our heads, thus making us socially, morally, and  _legally_  obligated to kiss! No one would begrudge us that, let alone start a serious inquisition based on the very  _commonly_  known magical powers of compulsion that this plant wields."

He  _must_ be joking, and yet... Carlton still can't quite tell. But he's learned to just go with it.

"As fool-proof as that plan sounds...," he starts, "you know that isn't real mistletoe."

"Aw, what?"

Shawn immediately steps back and takes the headband off, and begins examining the polyester that those fake leaves and berries are probably made of. For some stupid reason, Carlton finds that endearing.

He then reaches out to take the headband from him, so he can show him,

"And if it was real, it wouldn't even be mistletoe—it would be holly, because of the sharp leaves and the red berries. Mistletoe has round leaves and white berries, and for some inane reason, popular Christmas media almost never portrays it correctly."

"Huh. Good to know."

"It's also poisonous, however, and I  _don't_  think I could put it past you to try to eat it, so it's probably better you have fake holly instead."

To that, Shawn gives him his usual nod of  _fair enough_.

"...But through all of this, you're still neglecting to factor in one thing."

A smirk slowly spreads on his face to match the one on Carlton's.

"What's that?"

Carlton steps closer, forgetting for the moment where they are. "The fact that this thing looks incredibly stupid and should make any sane person want to kiss you  _less_  than they did before."

"HA!" Now people definitely do turn their heads, and Shawn  _certainly_  doesn't care. "Says  _you_ , maybe, with your... allergy to holiday spirit. And to mint. And your general disposition to dislike anything that's  _fun_. Me being the exception, of course—but I'd bet you that everyone at Buzz's party would be more than willing to get a kiss from me while I'm wearing this."

" _Everyone?_ " Carlton raises an eyebrow, folds his arms, and pulls his shoulders back. "...I'll take you up on that bet."

Now  _that_ really seems to surprise him. His smirk even starts to fade before twitching back.

"Seriously?"

"If and  _when_  you fail to get a kiss from everyone, you admit that that thing is dumb, and you owe me..." He arches his head and his gaze up to the empty, unforgiving Costco ceilings while he thinks. "Mm, a week of back massages."

"Oh, shit—okay, deal. I thought for a second you were gonna make me do pushups—but no takesies-backsies!"

"And if you do indeed manage to get  _everyone_  to kiss you," he starts before Shawn can come up with his end of the bet, "I'll 'admit' that I'm the outlier with the weird opinion about this... stupid headband."

"...And? That's all I get?"

" _And_... the rest is a surprise."

That instantly proves to be enough for Shawn, who beams so brightly that his head tilts like a goddamn puppy.

"This is  _definitely_  a deal, then. You wanna... kiss on it?"

With that, he puckers his lips to a comical degree. And yet, even in spite of the fact that they're in the dairy aisle at Costco that is far from empty, in which there could very well be someone who knows them personally, Carlton can't bring himself to refuse. So long as he isn't wearing the damn mistletoe headband.

He leans forward and seals the deal with a chaste, Costco-appropriate kiss. And he reluctantly tosses the headband in the cart.

"So now that it's settled that we're both going to Buzz's party," Shawn says much too quickly after pulling away, "is the verdict on the eggnog barrel still—?"

Carlton sighs and just starts pushing the cart again.

 

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

 

The only other person who gets to know about the bet is Gus, which was agreed before they even left the store. He is, after all, the only other person who knows about their relationship in the first place, and he would probably make some kind of scene if he thought his best friend was so shamelessly cheating.

That, and Carlton already knows that Guster is a given win in regards to this bet. He's spent far more time tolerating Shawn's antics than _anyone_ , having literally known him since infancy... so him being aware that Shawn has a bet to win won't make a single difference.

Hell, it might even work in Carlton's favor.

Truth be told—as Shawn has known for a while now—Carlton spent the first few weeks of knowing them under the impression that they were together. And he knows for a fact that he wasn't the only one. But luckily, as hard of a time he has trusting his gaydar due to unfortunate misunderstandings in the past, it's never taken him very long to confidently determine that a guy is extremely straight.

That didn't exactly keep him from seeing Guster as any kind of obstacle for some time, though. The kind of lifelong, unconditional, often  _impenetrable_  bond that he and Shawn share is something that Carlton has never even come close to experiencing himself.

And yet,  _somehow_ , just as simply being around Shawn has rubbed away the rougher edges of paranoia... he's managed to accept that Guster is his other half. That they're a package deal,  _and_  that—as Shawn often reassures him—that doesn't actually make Carlton any less important to him.

So, watching his boyfriend plant a wet one on his best friend's forehead once he steps through McNab's front door... is mostly just a little endearing.

"Lassie!" Shawn shouts and grins right after wiping his spit off of Gus's beautiful head, thus announcing to the rest of the party that Grumpy Head Detective Carlton Lassiter has  _miraculously_  arrived.

Carlton, of course, avoids all the surprised stares in favor of walking directly towards the couch that Shawn and Gus are on.

"You know that when I conceded Guster's confidence for this deal," he starts immediately, keeping his voice low, "I also meant he didn't really have to be a part of it."

"Yeah, I know," Shawn shrugs. "But it wouldn't really be in the  _spirit_  of the bet if I didn't include him, would it?"

He then stands up, putting the dangling, fake not-mistletoe at Carlton's eye-level. And he gives his boyfriend a once-over.

"...I see you're wearing the sweater I gave you _underneath_  that cardigan?"

Carlton's face flushes just slightly. "...Yes, because I love it, but I also think that me showing up here is shocking enough that I don't need to show it off  _right_  away."

It's a maroon, classic Ugly Christmas-style sweater that reads 'MERRY KRAMPUS' and has little goat-demon designs in place of reindeer and the like. And he  _really_  fucking loves it. He especially loves the scandalized looks he's gotten from old women the few times he's worn it in public, and... wearing it while sleeping. (It's comfortable, so sue him.)

"Fair enough," Shawn says with a nod.

He and Gus, meanwhile, are in matching ugly Christmas sweaters that he picked out the same time he bought Lassie's. His own being the classic  _Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal_ , and Gus's, the Harry Potter equivalent that he _knew_  Gus would love however little Shawn himself cares for the series— _Happy Christmas Ya Filthy Muggle_.

It's quite honestly one of the biggest reasons he wanted to come to this party in the first place: No way in  _hell_  is he going to miss out on a chance to show these off.

"Do you know when Jules is getting here?" he asks before Lassiter can say anything else. "And do you know if she'll be wearing the sweater I gave her?"

Shawn's sweater-related eagerness comes through intensely enough that Carlton finds himself smirking in amusement. But he otherwise remains professional.

"I honestly have no idea. I guess you'll just have to wait."

"Hm. I guess I will."

" _And_  I guess that, now that I'm here... the bet has officially started. You haven't forgotten the rules?"

Shawn lifts up one hand to count them off—"Kiss  _or_  receive a kiss from every last attendee of this party, not including yourself; it must be explicitly consensual; you must be there to see and confirm that it happened;  _I_  must be wearing this mistletoe hat the whole time; and... no mouth-on-mouth."

That last one was never actually discussed, as neither of them thought it had to be, but Carlton appreciates that he established it anyway. Shawn knew that he would.

"So it's on," Carlton says. There's an immediate glimmer in Shawn's eyes.

"So it is. Now... are you  _sure_  you don't find yourself magically compelled to kiss me under this mistletoe, Lassie?" Shawn asks a little louder than he's been—loud enough that some people other than Gus should hear him.

He gets on his tiptoes and puckers his lips. Carlton cheeks back a smirk and, purposely a bit loud as well, tells him,

"In your dreams, Spencer."

 

❄❄❄

 

As confident as Shawn is that those dreams will indeed come true tonight, he remains extremely surprised that Lassiter is actually cool with this at  _all_.

When he initially brought up a bet regarding this mistletoe hat—or  _headband_ , whatever it technically is—he wasn't even serious! The fact that  _Lassie_  was the one to make it real, to actually suggest that Shawn kiss about thirty other people for the sake of a silly bet, to in fact  _trust_  him enough to do that without any romantic or sexual implications...

Well, it fucking amazes him, to say the least. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve that large a chunk of Carlton Lassiter's famously limited supply of trust, and even though he's never done anything  _not_  to deserve it, either... he can't help but feel absolutely honored.

 _So_  honored, still, that Shawn has to refrain from looking in his boyfriend's direction for very long if he doesn't want that fact of their relationship to become obvious.

"I don't get why you don't just make it public already," Gus casually tells him while gathering a plate of cookies—likely having noticed him staring. "I mean, it's gonna have to become public at  _some_  point, Shawn. And considering all the much more unprofessional stuff Chief Vick has tolerated from us, I highly doubt anyone will get fired or even suspended for it."

"...Yeah, well—"

 _Speak of the devil_ —before he can finish whatever vague bullshit he was going to say, the woman in question comes through the door. Shawn promptly sets down his own cookie plate and instead says,

"Hold on, Gus, I have some  _incredibly_  unprofessional things to do."

He straightens the headband, glances to the corner that Lassiter is standing in to make sure he's looking, and then strides across the room.

"Chief!" he greets brightly, at which she turns around from where she's hanging her jacket.

"Oh—Mr. Spencer, you... look very festive," she says, clearly amused, as well as hardly seeming to register that he's taken her hand. And by the time that she does,

"May I?" he asks, lifting her hand up by the fingers as he might if she was a very wealthy woman hosting a ball in the 18th century, or some kind of royal. Nevermind that his fake mistletoe is positioned over them.

For probably the first time ever, Shawn sees the Chief's cheeks flush. Whether in surprise or flattery or some combination of both, he can't be sure until—

"Um... go ahead?" she seems to laugh—and then, after his lips have spent an appropriate amount of time pressed to her knuckles, she gestures to the man on her left. "This is Richard, my  _husband_ , whom I... don't think you've actually met, yet."

Indeed he hasn't! Shawn grins and reaches forward to shake his hand, finding a strong grip—and noticing, to his piqued interest, a menorah with actual LEDs on the man's sweater.

" _Hanukkah Seamach!_ " he says, watching the delight bloom on Richard's face. He takes that moment to lift his hand up the same way he did the Chief's, then asks, "...May I?"

He's far more casual than his wife at giving Shawn outright permission, and in fact seems to find it even more charming.

"Karen never told me you were Jewish!" Richard says with an almost scandalized laugh, turning towards his wife—

"Oh, that's because I'm not," Shawn corrects quickly. "I'm just well-traveled."

"Ah—you've visited Israel?"

"No, but close. I spent a summer working at a Hasidic deli in Portland."

Miraculously, he even finds  _that_ charming. And the Chief herself seems just as pleasantly surprised as Shawn is with how well her husband is taking to him. Richard does however (luckily) decide to follow her when she walks off to get a drink, and Shawn won't have to remain distracted by his amicability.

"Nice meeting you, though!" Richard tells him with another shake of his hand. "And I love your sweater, by the way."

The moment Richard's gone, Shawn flashes Lassiter a smug look as well as two fingers out to signify  _two people down_. Then, once he can see the slightest twitch of Lassiter's expression in response, Shawn lifts up the other hand with a single finger out.

_And so far ONE sweater compliment._

 

❄❄❄

 

As it turns out, McNab bought an eggnog barrel of his own for this party, despite there almost certainly not being enough people here to drain it unless every single person has  _several_ glassfulls. Carlton struggles not to tell him that he's committed a grave sin.

He does, however, actually pour a glass and then ask McNab whether he has anything to spike it with.

"Already?" McNab laughs—but then, likely upon seeing Carlton's scowl, "Oh—but, yeah, of course, um... I was  _gonna_  bring 'em out a little later, since there are a few kids here, but, uh—I got rum, cognac, bourbon, some liqueurs... oh, and a peppermint vodka—"

"Rum's fine," Carlton says quickly. He takes the bottle out of McNab's hand just as quickly and pours a generous shot into his glass. And then he adds, only after taking a drink, "And I'm allergic to mint."

"...Oh." He looks slightly embarrassed as he takes the rum bottle back, but moreso almost... sympathetic. "That must make Christmas kind of hard to enjoy, huh?"

"Tell me about it."

And he walks away.

It's not that he hates Christmas or even this party so much that he  _needs_  to get drunk. It's not even that he's particularly stressed from watching Shawn already win over a decent handful of people with cheek kisses. He just has nothing to do but awkwardly stand around and avoid any small talk that other party-goers try to throw his way as well as most of the snacks, for fear of activating his allergy, and the  _many_  snowglobes that have gone into McNab's non-denominational holiday decor.

It  _is_  enough to make him seriously wonder whether the impulsive decision to make this bet was in fact a bad one—but  _hey_ , free alcohol.

Carlton also feels the party take a significant turn (though it may just be his body physically loosening in relief) when his partner finally walks in. Wearing, as it seems, the sweater that Shawn picked out.

Shawn didn't actually _tell_  him what Juliet's said, but he can be sure that this is his doing.

"It's  _great_ , right?" is the first thing she says to him when she approaches, likely having noticed him reading it. She also stretches it out so he can see the whole design more clearly.

"It is," he easily agrees.

"I'm actually sweating like hell under this, but Die Hard is one of my favorite movies so it's completely worth it—but _Carlton_! You didn't tell me you were gonna be here!"

Out of anyone, she's definitely the most  _pleasantly_  surprised that he showed up. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but her enthusiasm does make him feel a little better.

"It was a sort of last-minute decision," he tells her with a shrug and a sip of his rum-nog. "...Actually, I—"

Then, cutting him off, a hand on his shoulder and a  _terrible_  Hans Gruber impression:

" _Now I have a machine gun. Ho. Ho. Ho._ "

"Spencer!" Carlton says without turning around. Honestly,  _how_  does Shawn manage to have such good timing? "I was wondering when you'd show up and harass us."

Shawn only smirks and leans on him even more—as casually as he can get away with.

"Thanks again  _so_  much for the sweater, Shawn," Juliet says, not appearing to think anything of his hands-on-ness with Lassie or of his headband. "It's perfect. Honestly, I'm a sucker for kitschy holiday stuff like this."

"I am  _so_  glad you love it, Jules. Of course, I knew you would." Shawn puts a finger to his temple just long enough to get Lassiter to roll his eyes. "And I knew the same way I know that Lassie is currently wearing  _his_."

With that, somehow faster than Carlton can register it, Shawn reaches over to one-handedly undo the top button on his cardigan and show the top of the pattern underneath. Then his reflexes  _do_  catch up. And Carlton pulls his free hand up to cover it again, his head snapping over in wide-eyed alarm.

Meanwhile it's much too late for Juliet, whose mouth has already dropped, to un-notice that. However little of the pattern was actually visible.

"You got  _Carlton_  a Christmas sweater?" She gapes between them, the utter joy on her face probably visible from Russia. "...And you're  _wearing_  it?"

"I—well—" Carlton doesn't know why he hasn't just told her the truth yet. "It's—you know... my circulation is bad, and... free clothes...," he finishes by mumbling directly into his mug, and gulping down more of it than he probably should.

Shawn decides, in that moment, to save him.

"Even the scroogiest of scrooges deserve warmth on Christmas, Jules. Especially in the form of niche, personalized patterns that allow those scrooges to match with their significantly  _less_  scrooge-y friends."

"Even if those scrooges are  _hiding_  it under another sweater," Juliet agrees with a wry smile in Carlton's direction.

"And on the subject of  _not_  being a scrooge, Jules... I do believe there is some plastic mistletoe conveniently between us."

"Hm." She cheeks a smirk. "That's actually holly."

"I've heard it both ways. Literally!"

"It's  _also_  between you and Lassiter, you know."

"I do know, and I already tried him. Lassie just won't budge—" Shawn takes that moment to flash his boyfriend a grin—"unlike  _everyone_  else I've caught under this so far... Guess he's just... uniquely lacking in holiday spirit, or something."

Shawn shrugs, and Carlton tries his damndest to maintain a mere frown. Which becomes slightly easier in the next few moments as Juliet rolls her eyes, leans forward, and taps her left cheek. And as Shawn presses a kiss there.

The one thing keeping Carlton from immediately downing the rest of his drink is that Shawn  _does_ keep it very brief and chaste. Like kissing a sister more than anything.

Shawn also makes eye contact with him afterwards, both to get the  _I appreciate that_  look in return and to mentally score another point for himself. And then to say, while pointing at the plastic not-mistletoe,

"You  _sure_  this isn't doing anything for you, Lass?"

Carlton holds his gaze. " _Extremely_."

"Hm. Well, I really think you're missing out— _but_ , we can hash it out later," Shawn says slowly, looking past the both of them in genuine, growing concern. "...Right now I gotta get Gus away from the snack table before he sends himself into a food coma, and Buzz into bankruptcy."

 

❄❄❄

 

Very soon after Shawn leaves their side and looks like he's accomplished exactly what he said he would, Carlton gets a text.

 

_[ spiking your eggnog this early? its hardly five oclock! naughty boy ;P ]_

 

"What's that?" Juliet just  _has_  to ask.

"Uh—" he quickly realizes that he can't give her the 'work' lie when they're both detectives.  _Dammit._  "It's my mother. Just asking if I'm visiting for Christmas this year."

She did ask him about that, recently. Only she  _called_  and didn't text because she's an old woman who refuses to use a cellphone. But he can hope that Juliet doesn't think too deeply into it.

He then types out a quick reply:  _how could you even tell?_

 

[  _because im... wait for it... PSYCHIC whoooooaaah jk i could smell it. also i 100% expected u would drink this early. hope youll at least have more fun w jules here <3_ ]

 

He suddenly remembers why he hasn't told his partner about his relationship yet.

If he does, then inevitably, eventually, one question will be on her mind:  _How_  he managed to come to terms with Shawn's psychicness, or how he came to finally believe in it, or if he has remained skeptical even while dating him. And the truthful answer to that—that Shawn  _isn't_... if nothing else, isn't his to tell.

The truthful answer also includes the fact that  _he_  had the facts long before they were even dating and neglected to tell her. That he neglected to tell her anything about his feelings for Shawn at  _all_.

Though Carlton often has to wonder if she might already suspect.

Sometimes he thinks he even  _hopes_  that she does, just so the pressure of eventually breaking the news himself is taken off.

"Huh, looks like Shawn really is trying to kiss  _everyone_ ," she says after a bit, at which Carlton turns to see him kissing Dobson's forehead.

She laughs, presumably at the look on Dobson's face after Shawn steps away (with a quick glance in their direction)—and something inside Carlton bursts and pushes him to say it:

"He is."

"What?" Juliet turns back to him with a vague frown.

"We made a bet," he admits, sounding much more casual than he feels. "He thinks he can get a kiss from everyone here while wearing that stupid thing. I bet him that he couldn't, because it's stupid."

"Oh." She blinks. "Well—you know I wouldn't have accepted it if I knew about that bet—"

"Which is exactly why it wouldn't have been fair to tell you."

"...Yeah, true," she shrugs. "Sorry anyway."

"Don't be."

"Well, it seems like he's winning."

 _Oh. Right._ That's _what she's sorry about._

"Yeah, well... it's—" He doesn't know why he's stammering. He's tipsy enough that he really  _shouldn't_  be, jesus. Maybe it's because he's been staring at Shawn for over a minute, now.

He makes a point of looking away and actually finishing off his eggnog.

"It isn't that high-stakes of a bet, anyway," he tells her.

 

❄❄❄

 

It does indeed look like Lassie is having a much better time now that he has something to do other than supervise their bet, for which Shawn is very glad. Even if he still can't help but wish that they'd never actually made this bet in the first place so that  _he_  wasn't too preoccupied with fulfilling the bet to spend time with him.

Or that they didn't  _need_  to make a bet for Lassie to agree to come.

That being said, or thought, Shawn very much intends to win whatever surprise his boyfriend has for him. And at this point, unless even more people show up, there aren't many at all left in the way of his win.

He'll admit, in the privacy of his own mind and even to Gus, that this headband absolutely makes him look like a jackass. He feels a bit more like one than usual, wearing it, too. But that's why he likes it! It fits him in a way that it just can't fit anyone else.

That is, he's _Shawn Spencer_. He can make anything look charming to the right people and he  _knows_  it.

By far the biggest obstacle, meanwhile, is that he can't try to kiss anyone while they're eating anything peppermint-based.

"Isn't Lassiter's mint allergy really minor, though?" one might ask, and which Gus  _did_  when Shawn had to explain why he wouldn't go and try to get a cheek-kiss from someone who was only holding a candy cane.

The answer to which was, and is, that  _yes_ , Gus, it is minor enough that he probably wouldn't have to go to the hospital unless he popped a whole mint right in his mouth. But any leftover residue on someone's cheek or hand or lips getting onto  _Shawn's_  cheek or hand or lips, and then eventually to anywhere on Lassie's body, could easily make him noticeably red and swollen. He knows well enough because it's already happened twice.

So now he makes damn sure not to even touch mint unless he's positive that he won't see Lassie for another few hours. It sucks, especially with it being Christmastime, but it's really a  _small_  price to pay in order to kiss his boyfriend at any time without giving him an allergic reaction.

"Is it, though?" Gus says, frowning down at his own peppermint spear.

"Okay, more like an average price," Shawn admits. "It's brand-name, but nothing  _fancy_  like... It's Hershey's, not  _Lindt_. And it's perfectly worth _not_  being the cause of him getting all itchy and swollen."

And it's why it's taken him this long to go for McNab and his wife, what with the peppermint hot-cocoa they've been handing out and sipping every time Shawn hasn't been busy kissing someone else.

That and the fact that, as the hosts of the party, they're the only  _logical_  finishing kisses.

 

❄❄❄

 

Even as he sobers up entirely, he's glad that he told his partner about the bet. Now he doesn't have to justify why he's so obviously keeping an eye on Shawn the entire time that they talk,  _and_  he can complain all he wants about the party—the attendants, the monotony of the music, the food selection, the commercialization of Christmas in general and the equally annoying performative Christianity in response—without having to make up a bullshit lie about why he's even still here.

Of course, Juliet still has plenty of rebuttals for his complaints. Mainly that, surely if he had actually  _told_  McNab he was coming, then maybe there'd be more peppermint-free options! And maybe the snowglobes would have been put away!

That it isn't  _so_  unreasonable to think that people might be willing to accommodate him!

And that, when he's resistant to that very notion,

"Carlton Lassiter, you're the only person I know who could turn a wonderful season like Christmas into a problem."

" _Don't_ —" He hurries to swallow the rest of the cookie he was eating before continuing, "...Don't  _Charlie Brown_  me, O'Hara."

Though they are, as it suddenly occurs to him, leaning over McNab's brick-laid countertop together while they watch the rest of the party. So he smirks in spite of himself. And then notices that  _she_  looks incredibly pleased that he caught her reference.

"You are!" she then insists. "Seasonal depression and all."

"I do  _not_  have... Well."

"Yep. I guess that makes me Linus in this scenario... Except, wow, I really don't wanna be Linus."

Carlton barks a laugh. "You think  _I_  want to be Charlie Goddamn Brown? Accept your role, O'Hara!" She seems to find that much funnier than he thought it was, and when she doesn't stop giggling for a good ten seconds, he finds himself adding, "Now I half-expect Shawn to set up some stupid cardboard box with a sign— _Psychic Help, 5 cents_..."

Oh, God. That really does fit, doesn't it?

It fits so well, in fact, that it takes him a hot moment to realize that he just said  _Shawn_  instead of Spencer. By the time he does, though, Juliet is already past addressing it and saying, with a grin,

"Or holding out a football for you to kick and pulling it away at the last second."

"Like I'd fall for that," he scoffs.

She gives him The Look that lets him know he's not fooling her for one second. And he's suddenly not fooling himself, either.

How many times has he fallen into the most obvious of traps for Shawn to hit him with some clever quip? How many times, before they were dating, did he let himself be the butt of essentially the same dumb joke over and over again just because it was Shawn who was making it?

Shit, maybe Juliet really does already know.

Instead of saying anything more to indicate that, though, within the minute she's looking apologetic and asking him,

"Hey, you wouldn't...  _mind_ , terribly, if I go and socialize with some other people, do you? I mean, you know—I didn't think you'd be here at all and I  _did_  really want to—"

"You can do whatever you want, O'Hara," he sort of snaps. "I'm not your boss right now."

"I'm asking as a  _friend_ , not for your permission, you know."

"Of course I know that! You can still do whatever you want."

"...Well, okay—"

"O'Hara, it's fine. You go do whatever, and in the meantime I'm gonna go get...  _Schroeder_  over there to put on something a little more contemporary."

 

❄❄❄

 

 _Oh_  so conveniently for Shawn, his boyfriend is already talking to McNab when he finally seizes his window to approach him. He'd actually think that it was Lassiter specifically trying to keep him from fulfilling his end of the bet, by _distracting_  McNab, if he didn't hear the conversation they were having.

"—any  _other_ christmas—or, non-denominational winter holiday albums?"

"Why? What's wrong with the music I've been playing?"

"Well, it's pretty damn repetitive, first of all."

And that's where Shawn has to take a quick stride forward and butt in.

"Gotta agree with Lassie here, Buzz. Now—don't get me wrong, Bill Cosby is an icon—"

"Bing Crosby, you mean," Lassiter interrupts.

"Heard it both ways—and yeah, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra goes pretty hard, but it's 2009, man. Did you know that Barenaked Ladies has a holiday album with  _original_  songs? I bet you could find the whole album on youtube no problem and just blast it on your laptop— _Guarantee_ ," he says, with his trademarked finger-to-the-temple, "whole party'll get better instantly."

"Uh..." McNab seems a little whiplashed, possibly from having both Shawn and Lassiter come to him with the same request, but he quickly recovers and grins at the former. "I—yeah, I don't see why not. I don't own the album, but I'll go see if I can find it like you said. But  _first_ , hey... mistletoe!"

And he grins even wider, gesturing at Shawn's headband and already leaning in. At which Shawn is  _just_  as surprised as he expects his boyfriend is, since no one else at this party has actually beaten him to the punch on this.

But only briefly. Then he remembers that  _this is Buzz McNab we're talking about, here_.

Shawn makes sure to flash Lassie a smug,  _Almost Time To Eat Your Words, Babe_  smirk before he goes in for it—

And then his smirk is immediately wiped off his face when, instead of going for Shawn's cheek or letting Shawn smack one on his, McNab grabs his cheeks and kisses him full on the mouth. And... time sort of stops.

Or his heart and body does, at least. Because he can still hear  _Winter Wonderland_  playing on the stereo, and he swears that he hears someone ( _McNab's wife?_ ) cheer not too far away, and there's definitely  _movement_  happening past McNab's face... but Shawn is just  _stuck_ , wide-eyed, in shock.

He's sure, in spite of all that, that less than a second has passed by the time McNab lets go. McNab himself clearly still has no idea that that wasn't necessarily wanted. And yet... Lassie has managed to leave his line of sight entirely in that time.

_Oh, no._

"Merry Chr—uh, twenty-first!" comes McNab's cheerful voice, only vaguely snapping him out of it. Or back into it?

"Um." Shawn swallows and feels any and all heat drain from his face. "Yeah, twenty-first to you, too, Buzz..."

The guy's already gone to find the music before Shawn's done trailing off, oblivious to him rapidly glancing around. It's in the next second that he can hear what is now  _undoubtedly_ , however muffled by his heartbeat in his ears, Francine McNab—she's shuffling up beside him and practically  _singing_ ,

"My tuuuuuuuuurrrn!"

Lassie isn't anywhere in the main room that he can see. Something in Shawn drives him forward before McNab's wife can even touch him.

"Sorry, I, uh—raincheck on that, Francine," he says, not really hearing himself as he crosses the room to the hallway, avoids eye contact with anyone  _including_  Gus, and furiously wipes at his mouth.

 

❄❄❄

 

Two Christmases ago, Shawn decided to play Santa Claus for the SBPD and brought a literal sack to the station, filled to the brim with personalized gifts for nearly everyone who works on his floor.  _Personalized_ , of course, meaning that Shawn somehow knew what pretty much the  _perfect_  present for each person would be.

Except in Carlton's case.  _His_  "gift" was a reminder of a childhood trauma.

Not that Shawn had any way of knowing that his extremely odd fear had origins that dark. Not that  _he_  had even yet properly worked out where it came from, at the time. But Carlton still thinks that he lost bitterness over that after an  _exceptionally_  short time, considering... well. Where he was at, emotionally.

There were just a few days in between the snowglobe stunt and Christmas day. And he was  _certainly_  still bitter on Christmas morning—if anything even moreso, as it already hadn't been a particularly happy holiday for him for a while, and  _now_  his own partner didn't want him at her Christmas dinner because he was just fucking  _incapable_  of making himself likable, wasn't he?

He went to work as usual. Typed up some reports in the quiet station, did some voluntary patrolling. Got nothing of note.

He ultimately had no choice but to go home earlier than he'd planned... to a box hanging from his doorknob.

Naturally, he felt an immediate surge of panic, and he drew his gun and approached slowly. The notion of a bomb being left on his door on Christmas evening—or any other evening, for that matter—was perfectly likely and would have,  _truly_ , made his day much more exciting.

Then his movement turned the porch light on and let him see the note across the front.

 

_from: Shawn "Spencer" Spencer, to: Lassie "Carlton" Lassiter_

 

For some stupid reason, he wanted to remain suspicious even after that. But it was pretty damn clearly in Shawn's handwriting, and the thing was wrapped in pineapple-patterned paper, and...

He remembers feeling something sharp in his chest, and holstering his gun, and just grabbing the box with a sudden disregard for everything he was paranoid about a second ago, and unlocking his door.

 _If it is a bomb then I just deserve to be blown up at this point,_ he remembers thinking, or very distinctly and intensely  _feeling_ , as he stepped inside.

But then, he knows that he heated up some leftover takeout and sat down and watched an episode of something, with that box on the coffee table, before finally picking it up again. He knows that he just  _stared_  at the wrapping for a good several minutes before actually opening it. And he definitely did feel some kind of relief when there was no hint of a bomb.

Just... a book. A compilation of Union soldier diaries from the Civil War that he didn't yet own. Recently published. On the inside cover, another note—

 

_Sorry about the snowglobes. Here's your real present._

_Merry Christmas, Lassie. h &k_

 

It had to be one of the first big leaps Carlton's heart took into being willing to trust Shawn with it. Especially when Shawn proceeded to not acknowledge the gift whatsoever in the following weeks, and to subsequently let him know that it wasn't attention that he was after.

That he was in fact the  _only_  one whose present didn't involve Shawn personally hearing a thanks.

It was something incredible to know, and still is. But the truth of the matter is and  _was_... before he even read the book and had a chance to see how good it was, before he even flipped past that front cover... Carlton wanted so  _badly_  to thank him. Not just for the gift, but for turning an absolutely miserable Christmas into a merely subpar one.

For  _continuing_  to make his holidays more tolerable. So tolerable that he barely has any worse of a time during them than the rest of year, now. Even with his allergy.

He doesn't know why he never actually thanked him, in all this time.

He doesn't know why  _Shawn_  never brought it up in all the times he's been over, when the book is pretty obviously on his shelf and the note still in there.

He doesn't know why he's in McNab's bathroom right now.

No,  _no_ , he does. He knows he's feeling too much to be in a room full of people right now. He knows that he can't—

There's a soft knock on the door.

"Lassie? ...You in there?"

Fuck. He doesn't hesitate to unlock and open it.

Shawn's on the other side, brow furrowed and chewing on his lip, and not wearing the headband but rather having stuffed one end into his pocket, for the first time that Carlton's seen him this whole party.

Still, the first thing he thinks to say is, "What if someone else had been in here?"

"Then I would have just said that I have something important to talk to you about—which I do," he says, and he steps in and locks the door behind him as quickly as he can, and reaches out to take one of his boyfriend's hands in both of his before he can react, and—"You know I didn't do that on purpose, right? Because I, I fucking swear, Lassie, I didn't kiss anyone on the lips for this whole thing and I  _definitely_  wouldn't have done it in front of you just to—"

"What? Yeah, I know that," Carlton says quickly, momentarily confused.

Now Shawn is, too.

"You know that?"

" _Of course I_ —shit, I saw him start to grab your face, and I know you wouldn't—truth be told, though, I didn't see much else because I left before I  _had_  to see anything..."

 _Oh, shit, so that's what this is about._ Shawn doesn't feel any better about that.

"...Dammit, Lassie, this whole bet was so stupid—I only wanted to be kissing  _you_  at this fucking party—!"

" _I'm_  the one who made the fucking bet in the first place," Carlton says with a sharp laugh, and he jerks his hand away from Shawn to run it roughly through his hair as he leans back against the sink.

And as Shawn can't do anything but stare at him.

_God._

"On some level I had to have  _known_  you were going to win the moment I made it," he continues to break the stretch of silence. He doesn't know why he can't bring himself to look at him. "I don't think I actually cared about that, I—I just wanted another excuse to come to a party with you that made sense to me, but... But  _God_  I just wasn't—it somehow didn't occur to me how fucking  _plainly_  I'd see that everyone...  _Everyone_  loves you, Shawn!"

With that Carlton does finally look up again, he feels like he must look hysterical. And he finds Shawn frowning deeply back at him.

"I mean," he starts quietly, "I don't know about  _every_ —"

"Everyone fucking adores you," Carlton snaps—and then finds himself laughing, again, "and what am I—what are  _you_  doing? ...No one's going to understand what the hell a guy like you is  _doing_ with a guy like me when you—you can go around and wear that stupid thing and it doesn't matter because you're still  _you_  and you're the guy that people want to kiss, and  _I'm_... the guy that has to psych himself up with a dumb bet like this just to go to a damn party."

Carlton actually wants to cry, now, and if  _that_  isn't just so goddamn stupid...

"Oh, Lassie..." Shawn just barely breathes that and steps forward and resists the urge to envelop his boyfriend in a hug—but only so he can stay in front of him and grab his hands and look him in the eyes instead. "Lassie, if  _anything_ , no one's going to understand what a guy who has his shit figured out is doing with a jackass like  _me_!"

"Shawn, you don't need to—"

"And everyone who knows you well enough does love you. If it was you wearing the headband—or, I guess more realistically if it was put on you against your will for whatever reason... at least  _seventy_  percent of the party would've been game to kiss you, too! Sixty percent, minimum."

He's suddenly reminded of Juliet explaining to him how he could easily be enjoying this party more if he'd only planned to. How she clearly has much more faith in what people might be willing to do for him than he does.

Even with Shawn more or less telling him the same thing, he still can't bring himself to wholeheartedly believe it.

He especially still does  _not_ want to be the Charlie Brown.

"...If that's true, I guess... that would be nice to know," Carlton finally says, his voice coming out a bit hoarse. "But I really don't want anyone else to kiss me."

Shawn squeezes his hand and sighs deeply in relief. "I don't want anyone else to kiss me, either, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. I'm not even upset about all the people who kissed you or  _want_  to kiss you," he insists, "I'm just..."

He trails off in desperation to find the words, which Shawn thinks to jokingly fill in for him, after a few seconds,

"Feeling so lucky to have me that it's overwhelming?"

Carlton immediately laughs—but not to scoff or disagree at all. It's just  _scarily_  hilarious how well Shawn hit the mark.

In lieu of telling him that outright, he leans forward to do what he hasn't been able to do all day—

"Wait!" Shawn jerks a hand up over his mouth before Lassie can get to it. "Buzz has been eating peppermint stuff this whole party, and he kissed me on the mouth like,  _ten_  minutes ago, are you sure—?"

"It's fine, I have an epipen."

"It's  _fine_? Seriously?" Lassiter's never been so...  _cavalier_  about his allergy before.

"I'll just stab myself if I get a serious reaction, I don't care."

Lassiter's never prioritized a simple affection over the sheer  _price_  of an epipen before.  _Holy shit._

Shawn doesn't automatically go for it based on that alone, but he's frozen in awe long enough that Carlton can move the final few inches forward and press lips to lips. He wants this so badly and it's obvious in the way he holds his cheek, takes it slow, and breathes him in.

Like  _hell_  Shawn's gonna move away after that.

He does, however, after wrapping an arm around Lassie's neck and pressing their chests flush together and taking in the deepest, warmest breath that he can... reach for the headband in his pocket. And he keeps kissing him while slowly, carefully slotting it back up on his head and behind his ears.

The fake not-mistletoe just barely grazes the top of Carlton's head, and he immediately has a hand in Shawn's hair to casually push the thing right back off.

" _Mm_ —how the hell were you that fast?" Shawn laughs incredulously into his mouth, feeling a smirk pressed into his cheek soon after.

Carlton doesn't even bother opening his eyes or pulling away to give him any kind of look, but just kisses along Shawn's cheek until his mouth is at his ear.

"Because I  _one-hundred-percent_  expected you to do that."

 

❄❄❄

 

As much as Shawn would really love to just sit on the couch and hold Lassie's hand after that, and vice versa, they're still not quite ready to go public. It's fine—it's smarter, really, to spend more time discussing all the pros and cons, and strategizing on when and where and if they should go person to person or announce it all at once.

After this much time spent at the party, however, Carlton does think he's ready to hang up the cardigan and let everyone see the  _kickass_  sweater underneath.

(Partly because making out in a bathroom at a party got him sweating, but, motivation is motivation.)

And within just the next few minutes, he's already gotten  _several_ compliments. Most of which also include questions about what exactly Krampus is, but he's happy to answer—and he's especially happy to have Shawn and Juliet  _and_  Guster all at his back, demanding from anyone else,  _how could you NOT know who Krampus is?_

He didn't think so much about this party could turn around so damn fast.

"It's almost like  _actually_  looking festive makes you more approachable, or something," Shawn says when he voices that, to Gus and Juliet's smug amusement.

"Yeah... shut up."

"Hey!" Juliet says very suddenly, turning to face Shawn and pointing to his head, where he's no longer wearing the headband. "Did you already win the bet?"

Shawn and Carlton make swift, startled eye contact—they didn't officially decide anything about the bet's fate before leaving the bathroom, and didn't have time to discuss anything since then, either. But they both sort of just... assumed.

That is, the only person left is Francine, and Shawn certainly has no intention to go kiss her.

"Um—"

"No, actually, someone left the party before I had the chance to go kiss them," Shawn says before Carlton can inevitably fumble around a less convincing lie. "And due to a lack of clarification in mine and Lassie's rules—my fault, really... I automatically lost. Sucks."

"Oh." Juliet blinks and turns to her partner with raised, expectant eyebrows. "So... what do you win?"

Carlton can't think of anything better to say, so he just puts it bluntly:

"A week of back massages."

While Juliet laughs, Shawn nearly chokes.

 

❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄ ❄

 

"This song was in the Grinch movie, you know."

"Mm."

"The live-action one with Jim Carrey."

"Yeah, I know the movie, Shawn."

"Just making sure! You know, it's also on Gus and I's Christmas marathon list this year... You wanna watch it with us?"

"Uh... not particularly. Besides, that's your and Guster's time—"

"Nonsense. Gus would love to have you over, you know that. He won't even mind if we cuddle as long as there's no necking, and no obvious up-and-down movements underneath the blankets—"

" _Alright_ , I'll... think about it."

Carlton must have gotten a lot braver over the course of this party. Or maybe he just stopped giving a shit—or decided he gave  _more_  of a shit about enjoying himself than maintaining any kind of scrooge-y exterior... because he's talked to more people in the past half-hour than he did for the other three.

He's been sitting with Shawn and Juliet and Gus, and listening to the Barenaked Ladies' holiday songs blasting from McNab's stereo, and eating the little sausages that McNab put out, and drinking cider, and talking and laughing and even— _God_ , even letting the occasional person get a picture of the four of them in their matching sweaters.  _Crazily_ enough... he's been having a good time.

Even crazier is that Juliet and Gus haven't even been sitting with them for the past several minutes, and he's still here. Just a few inches away from Shawn on the same couch, angled toward each other, and... not really worried at all. Not even trying to seem anything but happy to be talking to him.

It's not like they're cuddling, or kissing, or even touching in any arguably romantic fashion. They are, in fact, making sure to be quiet. But  _surely_  anyone paying close enough attention to them would see something more than platonic?

 _Anyone paying that close attention already suspects anyway,_  he tells himself, and easily believes.

"Speaking of... you coming over places," Shawn says after a minute, softer than before. He hesitates with his lips pursed for another several seconds, and Carlton frowns. "...How would you like to have Christmas dinner with me and my dad?"

Now, Carlton blinks. About five times.

"That would be  _okay_? With... Henry?"

"Yeah, I mean—" Shawn breathes a laugh. "I kinda accidentally told him a week ago that I was in a serious relationship, and, well. He said he wanted to meet them. And then he  _insisted_ , and... it's, you know, I do think that if anyone  _should_  know other than Gus, it's him. It would also make dinner with him a lot more tolerable."

"For you or me?"

"...Okay, mostly me. But you took all day off for Christmas, didn't you?"

He did. For the first time since before his and Victoria's separation, actually. It's the first time in years he's had  _any_  plans for Christmas other than the occasional visit to his mother.

Even if those plans are mainly just that he now has someone to spend it with.

"Well, who am I to pass up free food," is how Carlton agrees, at which Shawn beams and very nearly forgets the platonic distance between them for a moment. After that moment he thinks to ask, "You sure Henry won't... freak out?"

"Nah." Shawn waves a dismissive hand. "He will be surprised, though—like, he  _knows_ , but he's... you know, a straight old man. So he's willfully ignorant about it whenever it doesn't happen to be relevant... But trust me, he'll just be really awkward for a bit and it'll be fuckin' hilarious."

Or he hopes so. If nothing else, Shawn knows that his dad will wind up being more concerned for Lassie's end of things than otherwise. He's fully expecting some kind of  _"let's hope you rub off on him, Lassiter"_  comment. Probably  _many_  of them.

But that's a rabbit hole he'd rather wait until Christmas evening to go down. In the meantime,

" _One_ more big question," he says, inching closer on the couch.

Carlton gives him a wary look, but then the  _go ahead_  nod.

"...I gotta know, Lassie—what  _would_  I have won if I'd completed the bet?"

Oh.

Well, now that he's reminded of what he had planned, he's almost disappointed that they didn't go through with it. He certainly would have had more fun presenting it as an  _award_ , and while they were still  _here_...

But that's probably also for the best.

"I'll, um." Carlton tries not to smirk in a way that's too telling. "I'll show you later tonight."

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to lead up to porn, but then my emotions got ahead of me and... well, it just wouldn't have fit, thematically, to do anything but imply that it happens later that night.
> 
> Here's some art I drew for the fic, of the gang in their sweaters: [X](http://bassdraws.tumblr.com/post/168873245026/psych-gang-christmas-photo-based-off-the-shassie)
> 
> Recommended listening: [a very psych christmas](https://8tracks.com/captainlucifer/sleigh-bells-and-songs) / [a very psych christmas 2](http://bassiter.tumblr.com/post/168376217169/a-very-psych-christmas-2-8tracks-youtube)
> 
> some notes:
> 
> \- it’s canon that shawn worked in a hasidic deli once and that he can read hebrew  
> \- we know nothing about vick’s husband or much of her personal life, so i figured, you know, there’s no reason they CAN’T be jewish. and the more i thought about it, the more i really liked the headcanon.  
> \- lassiter’s allergy to mint is also canonical, though it was only mentioned once in season 1  
> \- a reminder for anyone who needs it: due to significant time spent with both of shawn’s parents by the first episode of season 3, there’s no way lassiter didn’t have legit evidence as to how shawn could do what he did without being psychic. and there’s also no way he told juliet or anyone else about it.  
> \- i REALLY wish there had been some kind of charlie brown homage in an actual episode, particularly in one of the christmas specials  
> \- it’s entirely a headcanon that lassiter’s fear of snowglobes comes from a childhood trauma, but one that i’m passionate about regardless and have used in 2 other fics.  
> \- the barenaked ladies' holiday album, [Barenaked For the Holidays](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvFURcDMXfk&list=PLvaG1Yt_rdjztee5zqdxOeRsmgIXKXkSW), is honestly so good


End file.
